


Hound One

by TheGreatCatsby



Category: Psycho-Pass
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Season 2 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-25 03:55:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3795787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreatCatsby/pseuds/TheGreatCatsby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He needed to be useful. To prove that he was useful to this team as an enforcer even if he hadn't been as an inspector.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hound One

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This could be seen as a companion fic to my other fic, Shepherd One, but you don't have to read it to read this one. That fic kind of glossed over the period where Ginoza would be getting used to being an enforcer. This one focuses on that period. I hope you enjoy it!

He clung to his father's jacket. Clung to Kunizuka's arm. Clung to the searing pain that was the only thing keeping him conscious. 

“You're bleeding,” Kunizuka said, and her voice wavered. It never wavered. 

Ginoza laughed. Yes, the rather large pool of blood spreading across the floor belonged inside of him, but it wasn't inside of him any longer. “It doesn't matter,” he said. 

“It does,” Kunizuka told him. Ginoza just laughed again, the sound tearing at his throat. 

Kunizuka's deft fingers were stroking his hair, as if that could help. She didn't say things would be fine. Blood was soaking into both their clothes. Akane and Kougami were missing. His father was dead. 

Ginoza couldn't stop laughing. 

Later, Kunizuka and Akane would tell him that he hadn't been laughing at all. He'd been screaming. 

*

“Do you know what your problem is?” 

Ginoza pushed his glasses up his nose. “Enlighten me.” 

“Your problem,” Kougami said, “is that you worry too much.” 

“Oh.” Ginoza had expected Kougami to say something else. Something bad. Worrying too much wasn't bad. He had to worry in order to stop bad things from happening. 

Kougami was drunk. Ginoza wasn't drunk. This was often how they spent their weekends. 

“You need to relax,” Kougami said. 

“If I relaxed, you'd be dead,” Ginoza said. 

Kougami stared at him, drink dangling precariously from his fingers. “Those two things aren't related.” 

Ginoza shrugged. He wanted to insist that they were, they were related, because they were always in danger, and if Ginoza didn't worry he'd lose people like he'd lost his father when he wasn't worrying about losing him. His job was to keep Kougami in check. To protect him, possibly from his own stupidity. Certainly from the stupidity and cruelty of others. 

“They're not related,” Kougami repeated. 

“You'll drop that,” Ginoza said. 

Kougami looked at the drink in his hand, held only by his finger tips, and then at Ginoza, and then he laughed. 

“You should've been a dog therapist,” he said. 

*

“I should have been a dog therapist,” Ginoza muttered. 

“What was that?” Inspector Shimotsuki demanded. 

“Nothing,” Ginoza said, louder, digging his fingers into his head. Maybe this time he'd actually penetrate skin and bone and get inside his brain and dig out all the bits that were constantly worrying about Akane and the other enforcers and even worrying about Kougami, wherever he was. And Ginoza knew he shouldn't worry about Kougami. He didn't owe that man anything. 

Shimotsuki was too young. He worried about her too, but she annoyed him enough that she was pretty low on the list of things to be concerned about. 

“Your report was due half an hour ago,” Shimotsuki pointed out. 

“It will be ready in ten minutes,” Ginoza said. Kunizuka glanced at him from across the room. He avoided looking at her. 

Some days it was hard to do his job with the same meticulous rigor he'd done it with back when he'd been an inspector. He'd been slipping even before he'd been demoted. It was just that now, his position reflected what was going on inside. 

He'd mostly accepted it. 

Some days, he hated himself for slipping so far. 

*

“You're angry at me,” Kougami said. 

Ginoza stood in the center of Kougami's new living quarters. His cell, really. He wasn't able to leave the building, not without an inspector. Ginoza usually ended up being that inspector. He hated it. 

He didn't hate taking enforcers out. He hated that he had to drag Kougami around like he was some sort of dog on a leash. Dime was a dog who needed a leash. Kougami was a qualified inspector a few months ago, a smart man. Well trained, one could say. He didn't need Ginoza to be leading him around like he was superior. 

Ginoza felt that he wasn't. Kougami would have surpassed him as an inspector if he'd stayed in the position long enough. But he'd thrown that away. 

“I'm not sorry for what I did,” Kougami said. 

“I know,” Ginoza said. He folded his arms across his chest. “I hope you enjoy being a dog.” 

Ginoza vowed not to be sorry for anything he was going to do. 

*

One day Ginoza woke up shivering and dragged himself into the office anyway. 

They were called out to chase a murderer before anyone could say anything, but Akane paired herself with him instead of forcing him to work with Shimotsuki, which had been what she'd usually done. Ginoza was secretly glad. Shimotsuki gave him a headache on her best days, and today he already had what was quickly become a migraine. 

They chased the criminal to a block of abandoned buildings by the water. There was a boat, and Akane pointed her dominator at the man. It determined that his crime coefficient was high enough to justify killing him. 

“Wait!” Ginoza cried, raising his own dominator, seeing that his crime coefficient was too high to go down, and before Akane could protest, he shot the criminal in the chest. 

Breathing hard, he lowered his gun. Akane stared at him. “What if he'd gotten away?” 

“That is our job,” Ginoza said. “Not yours. You—you're not a k-killer.” 

Akane frowned at him. “You look pale.” 

He felt horrible. Hot and cold all at once, now that he'd stopped running, and his stomach was doing terrible things. His vision blurred, then started to white out, and a strange buzzing filled his head and ran through his entire body. 

“I'm fine,” he said. 

Then he lurched forward and passed out. 

Sometime later he woke up to Akane running a damp cloth over his head. He had a moment to think about how nice that felt when nausea hit him hard, and he scrambled off the bed, hand over his mouth, knocking her to the side, and stumbled into the bathroom. It occurred to him as he fell in front of the toilet and his stomach turned inside out, that had this not been his living quarters, he would've just embarrassed himself hugely. 

He couldn't stop retching. Akane's cool hands brushed back his hair, which he didn't think needed holding back, but it was getting in his eyes and he appreciated the gesture. Eventually his stomach calmed down, and Akane handed him a glass of water. When he was done rinsing out his mouth he sat on the floor, exhausted. 

“You have a fever,” Akane said. “Why didn't you call in sick?” 

She sat next to him. He leaned against her, even though ordinarily he would've balked at physical contact with a colleague. But he was so tired, and the wall was too far away, and she was right there. 

“Ginoza,” Akane prompted. 

It hurt to speak, but Ginoza managed, “I can't be useless as an enforcer. If I am, they'll lock me up.” 

“They won't lock you up for getting sick for a few days,” Akane pointed out. 

“What if they do?” Ginoza swallowed, not sure if nausea was causing his voice to shake or if it was something else. “The moment I stop being useful--” 

“You are useful,” Akane insisted. “Even when you're sick. Even if you take a few days off to rest.” 

She was wrong. She usually wasn't but right now she was very wrong. 

“Are you done?” she asked. 

“Not sure,” Ginoza murmured. But the floor wasn't particularly comfortable and he was so tired. 

“Let's get you to bed,” Akane said, helping him up. He almost passed out again, but managed the few steps to his bed before he collapsed. “And I don't want to see you at work tomorrow.” 

“I have to--” 

“No, you don't.” 

*

“Do you know what happens to Enforcers who retire or can't work anymore for some reason?” Kougami asked. He was lying in a hospital bed for the second time in three months, having been shot through the shoulder on their last case. 

Ginoza had perched himself on the end of the bed. “They get sent back to the isolation facility.” 

“No freedom at all,” Kougami said. “Locked up for life.” 

“If that scares you,” Ginoza said, “perhaps you should have tried harder to keep your hue clear.” 

“It doesn't scare me,” Kougami said. “Enforcers don't usually make it to retirement anyway.” 

Ginoza's hands clenched the blankets. “The reckless ones.” 

“Most of them,” Kougami said. “Sasayama didn't die because he was reckless.” 

“He did,” Ginoza snapped. “He was reckless and he went off alone when he shouldn't have, and that's why he's dead.” 

“You blame him for his own death?” Kougami's voice was hard now. 

Ginoza took a deep breath. “If you want to dig yourself an early grave, fine. I can always find another enforcer.” 

A pause. And then Kougami spoke, softer, “Gino--” 

“Stop.” Ginoza stood, but didn't face Kougami. “I tried to protect you. I'm trying to help you, but you would rather die than let it go.” 

“I can't let it go,” Kougami said. “You know that. It's important to me.” 

And I'm not, Ginoza thought. 

“If you helped me,” Kougami continued, “we could--”

“I can't help you,” Ginoza said. “The case is shelved. We move on.” 

“Do you even care?” 

Ginoza whirled around and shouted, “He was a dog! Why would you risk your life for the sake of one dog?” 

Kougami returned his glare, calm, collected. “I don't know, Gino. Why don't you tell me?” 

“Damn you,” Ginoza hissed, and he stormed out of the room. 

The rest of the day was spent trying not to think about that conversation, or about how many times he'd have to see Kougami in a hospital bed. About how long he had before he saw Kougami dead. 

*

“Don't tell me you're working overtime again,” Akane said, setting a cup of coffee on Ginoza's desk. 

“Aren't you enabling me?” Ginoza asked. “Besides, we're short on enforcers. Again.” 

“Ginoza...” 

“I don't have anywhere else to go.” 

“Ginoza.” 

“What?” 

Akane smiled at him. “How many hours did you sleep last night?” 

“Five,” Ginoza said. 

“Liar.” Akane's smile disappeared, but she looked triumphant. “You were on shift with Shimotsuki.” 

“You can't talk to me about working overtime,” Ginoza said. “You don't always go home when Shimotsuki arrives for her shift.” 

“I can't make you go home,” Akane said, “but I can ask you why you're determined to run yourself into the ground.” 

“There's work that needs to be done and I can do it,” Ginoza said. 

Akane shook her head and returned to her own work. 

His work was protecting Akane. As an enforcer, he needed to protect his inspectors. He couldn't do that from home. And he needed to be useful. To prove that he was useful to this team as an enforcer even if he hadn't been as an inspector. 

He drank more cups of coffee that week than he slept hours. 

*

“Drop it.” 

“Drop what?” 

“You know what.” Ginoza leaned over and yanked the file Kougami had tried to hide from underneath his tablet. It contained details of the case they'd been working on when Sasayama died. “It's been three months.” 

“Not long enough to close the case.” 

“Chief Kasei ordered it closed,” Ginoza snapped. “You have a job to do.” 

“I am doing my job,” Kougami said. “Investigating a series of crimes in order to prevent them from happening again.” 

“You can't work on this case and the cases we're currently working on,” Ginoza said. “I saw your report earlier. It was riddled with errors. Simple errors. Concentrate on our current workload and stop chasing ghosts!” 

Kougami stared up at him, expression hard. “Ginoza, when did you become a pencil-pusher instead of an investigator?” 

Ginoza narrowed his eyes. “You didn't say that.” He threw the file at Kougami's chest and stormed out of the office to clear his head. 

When he returned, Kougami's shift had ended, and he was no longer there. 

*

He hadn't slept well in weeks, but that didn't matter. He could excuse it by saying they were down an enforcer (yet again) and that as the most experienced member of their team, he could pick up the slack where others could not. 

Running after criminals was exhausting. He stumbled into a wall and Shimotsuki gave him a strange look. He straightened and ran past her. 

“Wait!” Shimotsuki cried. He heard her scrambling to catch up. They rounded a building. 

Ginoza caught sight of the man they'd been chasing and his eyes widened. 

“Don't shoot!” 

“But he's a criminal!” Shimotsuki aimed her dominator. 

“Call Tsunemori.” 

It was Kougami. A year and a half later. Kougami, hiding in the shadows of the city. 

“We need to bring him in,” Shimotsuki said. “What are you doing?” 

Ginoza was moving forward, towards Kougami. 

Shimotsuki fired. 

“Idiot!” Ginoza flung his prosthetic arm in front of the shot and closed his eyes. He felt something warm, and then pain flared through his shoulder and radiated through the rest of his body. Something hard hit him, and he heard Shimotsuki shouting. 

There were hands touching him, one on his chest, one of his face. The one on his chest was applying pressure, and Ginoza was confused. And then the pain flared again and he arched his back off the ground, screaming, and the hand pushed him down again. 

“Why would you risk your life for the sake of one dog?” he heard someone whisper. 

Sirens began to bleed into the rushing of blood through his head, and then there was nothing at all. 

He woke up hours later in a hospital bed, bandages around his torso and the stump that used to be his arm. 

“You're lucky the prosthetic took the damage,” Akane said from the edge of his bed. “It's easier to just get you a new one than to scrape the rest of you off the street. It tore the skin pretty badly, though, and some shrapnel hit you.” 

“Kougami,” Ginoza rasped. 

Akane looked confused. “What?” 

“What about Kougami? He almost got shot. He--” 

Akane closed her eyes. “That wasn't Kougami.” 

“But--” 

She looked sad. “You need to rest, Ginoza, please. Before you kill yourself.” 

*

“Have you ever retired an enforcer?” Ginoza asked. 

Kougami laughed. “In Division Three? No. They move up or, you know. Have you?” 

“No,” Ginoza said. 

“I suppose there's no graceful exit from that sort of job,” Kougami mused, swirling his drink around. “I wonder how it'll feel, when, you know.” 

“It might hurt,” Ginoza said, “but we'd have to remain professional and move on. It's a hazard we've been aware of since we took the job.” 

“That's logical,” Kougami said, “but not everyone is logical all the time. Especially not when emotions are involved.” 

“I'd prefer that emotions didn't get involved,” Ginoza said. 

Kougami laughed and leaned back in his chair. “Emotions don't give a damn what you prefer.” 

*

Predictably, Akane had given him three weeks off to recover. He would be physically well enough to return to work within two, but she also mentioned something about allowing his mind time to rest. 

In his apartment with no one but Dime, he was starting to feel trapped. He'd pace, do exercises. Walk Dime on the rooftop garden. He'd eat in the cafeteria, but no one ever seemed to be around. 

Was this what his life would be like when he stopped being useful to the PSB? 

It terrified him. 

“I'm sorry,” Akane said when she came to visit him during the second week. “I meant to take you for some fresh air, but we've been busy.” 

“You're short enforcers,” Ginoza said. 

Akane nodded. “We could use you,” she said. “But we also need you to be healthy.” 

“I'm sorry,” Ginoza said. 

“Don't be,” Akane told him. “Just be careful. We can't have you getting your arm blown off every time you overwork yourself into thinking random criminals might be Kougami.” 

She offered him a small smile. 

Ginoza tentatively offered one of his own.


End file.
